|
|
Sleep
By Algernon Charles Swinburne
Sleep, when a soul that her own clouds cover
Wails that sorrow should always keep
Watch, nor see in the gloom above her
Sleep,
Down, through darkness naked and steep,
Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover
Soon the soul, though her wound be deep.
God beloved of us, all men's lover,
All most weary that smile or weep
Feel thee afar or anear them hover,
Sleep.
Extra Info:
From "A Century of Roundels"
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 657 times.
|
|
